


Anywhere and Everywhere

by Glass_Jacket



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Angst, Blow Jobs, It Might Have Happened, M/M, Oral Sex, Possible AU, Post Civil War, Slash, So much angst, Stucky - Freeform, bucky calls Steve 'stevie' and it's grand, bucky does everything one handed, did i mention the angst, hot dude doing the hot dude stance in a hot shower, i like to think it did, pre infinity war, shower scene, steve uses his sketchbook, this is what stucky deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Jacket/pseuds/Glass_Jacket
Summary: No man can have a nomadic heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my take on the Stucky we all deserve. Takes place after the events of CA:CW but pre IF. No real spoilers or warnings, just angst, some fluff maybe? Introspection, Steve uses his sketchbook, and Bucky does everything one-handed. This is my first foray into the fandom, feedback / comments / kudos are always welcome and appreciated.

He arrived some time in the night.

 

Weary and road-dirty, Steven Rogers was granted entrance into the kingdom of Wakanda under the watchful eye of Okoye, leader of the Dora Milaje, and the rest of the regime who stood guard that night.  

 

There was no deviation on the path to T’Challa’s audience room; no chance for Steve to wipe his face, brush the dust from his beard, or change his sweat-stained clothes.  Instead, he was brusquely marched over polished floors, through ornate hallways, until at last they were at the grand double-doors of where he would meet the king of Wakanda.

 

The swift execution of the trip was at Captain Rogers’ insistence.  Okoye had wrinkled her nose at the scent of unclean skin and sun-baked dampness, but the troubled look in the Captain’s eyes made the decision for her.  

 

She’d only met Captain Rogers once, when he’d brought Sergeant Barnes to Wakanda to begin healing, and the little she knew of the Captain was from what Barnes had told her, and how he had told her.  As broken as the sergeant was both inside and out, his voice lost its hollowness, and warmed like the rising sun when he spoke of his days in Brooklyn in the 40’s, and how close he and Rogers had been.  His face softened, too. The stormcloud-scowl was replaced with a wide, blinding smile that creased the corners of his eyes, as if those precious memories were a balm for all the pain and darkness he had endured up until his arrival in Wakanda.

 

That night, it seemed, the stormcloud had settled over Rogers’ face.  Okoye studied him for a moment as they waited outside of the audience chamber.  His gaze was fixed on the intricate carvings of the door, inlaid with vibranium, and his jaw was set tight.

 

“Your face worries me, Captain Rogers,” she said softly.

 

Steve roused himself and turned quickly to look at Okoye, as if he suddenly remembered where he was.  “I…”

 

He wasn’t given a chance to speak, as the doors were suddenly pulled open to reveal the audience chamber.  Seated on his throne at the other end of the room was T’Challa, and Steve froze for a moment, until another person shifted into view.

 

“Bucky,” he gasped, his voice cracking.  The firm command of his limbs suddenly left him, and he rushed forward into the chamber, only to be stopped by the sudden clang of steel, and the crossed spears of the Dora Milaje who flanked the door.

 

“He is no threat,” T’Challa called out from his throne, rising and following Sergeant Barnes, who was already halfway to the door.  “Are you?” the king tacked on at the end.

 

The Dora Milaje held fast as Steve sagged and shook his head.  “No. No, I’m here as a friend.” As he spoke, his gaze shifted from T’Challa to Bucky, and he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat.

 

How many years had it been since he’d left Bucky here?  One? Two? It felt like a lifetime. But, however long, the time spent here had been good to Bucky.  He seemed to carry less weight on his shoulders, and at that moment those steel blue eyes were just as blazing as they had been ninety years ago.  

 

They were no longer filled with the trepidation and guilt that was there when Steve left Bucky in Wakanda.  He had colour in his cheeks. His hair had grown longer. Years had passed, yes, and while some things had stayed the same, others surely had changed.  Steve was beginning to wonder if coming here might have been a mistake. 

 

Was Bucky still  _ his _ Bucky?

 

“Where have you been, Captain Rogers?” T’Challa asked, as he signalled for the Dora Milaje to step back.

 

“Everywhere,” Steve softly replied, as if pleading his case to Bucky.  “Anywhere I could get to, I went. Svalbard, Azerbaijan, Bhutan, Panama, South Georgia.”  He paused, and then shrugged, spreading his hands out. “Here.”

 

“And your beloved America?  You have yet to return home?”

 

Steve looked back at the king as he spoke, and he slowly shook his head.  “I haven’t had a home...haven’t needed one in a long time.”

 

“Every man needs somewhere to rest his body, Captain Rogers,” T’Challa said slowly, glancing at Barnes.  “And, he cannot have a nomadic heart.”

 

Steve cleared his throat and pulled himself upright, and squared his shoulders.  He did not have words to follow T’Challa’s.

 

The king smiled gently.  “It is late. You are in need of rest, and food and water.”  He looked to Okoye. “See that Captain Rogers is settled for the evening.”  Then, he turned to Rogers once more. “You are welcome here in Wakanda, for as long as you need, and as long as you like.  Take your time.”

 

With that, T’Challa turned and headed to a side-door of the audience chamber, one that led back to his own rooms.  He was followed by a handful of the Dora Milaje. When he had gone, the only ones left in the room were Steve, Bucky, and Okoye.

 

“I will show you to your rooms, Captain,” she said before turning to the door.

 

+

 

Bucky followed silently behind Okoye and Steve.

 

When he’d been summoned to the audience chamber to be present for T’Challa’s guest, Steve was the last person he’d expect to enter.

 

But, there he was, and Bucky’s mouth had gone dry at the sight.

 

His memories from years ago seemed incredibly far away.  The golden boy had become tarnished somewhere along the path Steve had tread.  As he’d listed off the places he’d been, Steve’s voice had grown wearier with every one of them, until at last he had shrugged, and he looked deep into Bucky’s eyes as if to say that every road he’d taken led him right back here.

 

That sudden thought made Bucky stop.

 

“Steve,” he said softly.

 

Both Steve and Okoye looked back at him, and Okoye, sensing that she was no longer needed, nodded to them both, gestured towards the door of Steve’s rooms, and then slipped away silently, leaving them in the hall.

 

“Don’t say goodnight, yet, Buck,” Steve said gently.

 

Bucky nodded.  “Okay. I won’t.”  He motioned for Steve to lead the way.

 

It was something that Steve was good at - being a leader, even if he did so reluctantly.  And Bucky would follow him anywhere - to the end of the line, like they always said, and though there were years and wars and blood between them, that much, at least, Bucky could hold onto.

 

He watched as Steve eased into the room and made note of his rucksack just inside the doorway, which he picked up and carried to the sofa in the small living suite.  Every movement seemed to be an effort, and they culminated with Steve tossing the duffel onto the table before he collapsed into the sofa, head held in his hands.

 

Bucky took a step towards him.

 

“You look good.  You look... _ better _ .”  Steve turned and glanced back at Bucky from over his shoulder.  A tired smile played over his mouth. “I’m glad to see you.”

 

Bucky felt his own small smile curving on his lips.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Bucky watched Steve nod and then turn back to his bag, fiddling with the zipper before raking a hand back through his thick, unwashed hair.

 

“You need a shower,” Bucky pointed out.

 

Steve huffed a laugh, but couldn’t argue.  “You’re right.”

 

Bucky answered with his own bark of laughter.  “Holy shit, mark this day down: Steve Rogers actually admitted that I’m  _ right _ .”

 

“Jerk,” Steve muttered before he stood.

 

“Punk,” Bucky shot back.  

 

He watched Steve pull at his clothing, slowly unwinding the worn fabric that had months of field repair.  Every movement seemed to disrupt the dust that had settled onto Steve, and  _ into _ him, too.  With each layer removed so, too, was a bit of the worry that shrouded him.  Finally, when Steve was just in his flack pants, he turned to look at Bucky.

 

The former sergeant felt something stir as Steve loomed near and large and half naked in the softly lit room.  A yearning for familiarity and memory almost took him over.

 

There were wounds on Steve’s body that were half-healed, and would no doubt be gone by morning, thanks to the serum.  But there were also deep lines, gorges in the muscled planes, that spoke of a lean diet, and days spent on foot and nights spent under the stars.  

 

Steve looked older.  He looked weathered, and haggard; and the dark, thick beard on his face only added to the fact that the man standing before Bucky was entirely different from the youth he’d known ninety years before.  

 

Steve cleared his throat, his heart having leapt there when he caught the look in Bucky’s eyes as he gave Steve the once over.

 

“I’m gonna...take that shower,” Steve said softly.  He didn’t want to move from that moment, didn’t want to let Bucky from his sight, but propriety, and the scent of his own sour sweat, made cleanliness a priority.

 

“I’ll leave you to it-” Bucky said, turning to the door.

 

“Stay,” Steve said, taking a step forward.

 

Bucky smiled gently.  “I’ll be right back, Stevie.  I promise.”

 

With a reluctant nod, Steve let him go.  The silence of the room and the unknown surroundings started to close in on him, and he hightailed it to the bathroom where he cranked the taps on high, shed the rest of his clothing, and stepped under the hot, thundering spray of the shower.

 

He washed methodically, hair, face, neck, shoulders, armpits, and then down, until the suds were grimey and swirling around his toes at the bottom of the spacious, stone-lined stall.  The glass had fogged with the steam, and Steve stood in the vapour, his head bowed and his hands pressed to the wall as he concentrated on the roar of the water.

 

It sounded like a firefight, like the fallout of the explosions that surrounded Schmidt’s fortress, like the screech of a train surrounded by high mountain winds, and then finally, like the screaming engines of a plane destined to go into the water.

 

It sounded the way his heart had those first moments on the bridge when he’d seen Bucky, and Bucky hadn’t a clue who Steve was.

 

_ It’s different now _ , he argued with himself.

 

_ Is it?  Does he remember Germany?  Those nights you had together, once you had him back safe, when he looked at you like you were you, and so much more than you? _

 

Steve shuddered with the memories, and despite his desperate attempt to keep it at bay his arousal swirled low in his belly and then began to bloom warmly in his thighs and hips.  

 

_ “God, Stevie...Where’d you learn to...oh yeah, sweetheart.  Again. Just like that.” _

 

He curled his fingers against the tile and bit into his lip to stifle a moan.   _ And what if he  _ **_does_ ** _ remember it, and he doesn’t want it anymore? _

 

_ “Just me and you, Stevie,” Bucky declared.  “Just like this.” _

 

_ “Just here and now?” Steve asked, his voice small and muffled against Bucky’s shoulder where he’d buried his face after hours beneath the rough wool of field blankets. _

 

_ Bucky’s hand tightened on Steve’s shoulder, and he pressed his nose into Steve’s sweat-damp hair.  “Anywhere,” Bucky murmured. “Everywhere.” _

 

+

 

_ Jesus Christ, are we actually dancing around each other?   _

 

Bucky yanked open the door of the wardrobe and slung the hangers back and forth as he searched for something Steve could wear. 

 

_ It’s been a while, Barnes _ , he reminded himself softly.   _ He might not...want that.  After everything that has happened. _

 

But Steve wasn’t like that.  Wasn’t the type to hold grudges or pass judgement.  At least, he hadn’t been, but there was that whole thing with Stark, and Bucky was the wedge driven between them.

 

_ But he’s here now _ , he reasoned.

 

“Fuck,” Bucky growled, yanking a few things from their hangers before tossing them to the bed and folding them with his one hand.  What had he told Steve in Germany? 

 

_ Anywhere and everywhere _ .

 

But that had been before - 

 

No.  No, Bucky had spent far too many hours, days and nights, dealing with those demons.  He was not responsible for his actions. He had been a product of Schmidt and Zola, a weapon functioning under Hydra, little more than a machine.  

 

Steve had been a mission.  Bucky had been the asset.

 

And now, they both seemed to be lost.

 

But Bucky would be damned if he let Steve wander any longer.

 

+

 

When he emerged, Steve was cleaner, but still exhausted.  After he’d rubbed a towel over his head and face, he swiped it over his body before wrapping it around his hips and moving toward the sink.  There, he wiped away the condensation that clung to the mirror, and winced at the dark circles under his eyes.

 

He really just wanted to fall into bed, but then a soft knock skittered across the bathroom door and Steven remembered that Bucky was there with him.

 

“I’ll be right out,” he called, scratching at his jaw and deciding that a shave could wait.  He crossed the slate tiles and reached for the doorknob on the bathroom door.

 

“Take your time.  I just wanted to let you know-”

 

Steve yanked the door open and a rush of cool, crisp air settled over his damp skin, pulling gooseflesh up along his arms and his chest.

 

“-I’m here,” Bucky finished.  He held up the bundle of cloth in his hand and tore his gaze from the way Steve’s nipples had tightened in the air change.  “I found you something to wear. They’re mine, but they should fit.” He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger over the breadth of Steve’s shoulders.

 

Steve took a steadying breath under Bucky’s scrutiny, and contemplated the clothes in Bucky’s hand.  “Thanks,” Steve murmured, stepping past Bucky into the bedroom

 

Bucky watched him move to the bed where he’d stashed his duffel.  His back was still wet from the shower, the drops clinging to his skin and catching the low light of the room as he worked open the zipper of his duffel and slowly began laying the contents out.  There wasn’t much in there: two pairs of briefs, two pairs of socks, two shirts – a soldier’s duffel, sparse and unfettered.

 

Steve paused for a moment and then withdrew another folded set of cloth, this one the unmistakable deep blue of his Captain America uniform.  The silver stars and stripes that had decorated the shoulders were missing, darker patches of blue cloth in their place, the ragged threads still clinging where the pieces had been torn off.

 

Bucky watched as Steve’s shoulders tensed.  He cleared his throat and asked, “Will you...please turn around and look at me?”

 

Steve sighed, and slowly turned to face Bucky.  

 

Bucky waited for words that never came, and realized he’d have to take the wheel with this one.  It occurred to him that this was par for the course. When something was buried behind Steve’s stalwart conscience, Bucky had to be the one to excavate.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Steve gave a weak shrug.  “I just...missed you, Buck.  That’s all.”

 

“It’s more than that – don’t use me as an excuse.  What happened?”

 

Pursing his lips, Steve remained silent as he worked out what he wanted to say.  “After I left, I found that I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the states.”

 

“You said as much back there,” Bucky nodded, referring to T’Challa’s audience chamber.  “You’ve always said what’s on your mind, you know. So I know when you’re not because you get this look...I can’t describe it, but it’s the look you’re giving me right now.  Start talking.”

 

The sigh that left Steve was defeated, and he brought his hands to his face, rubbing over his features. “There is so much in this world that I can’t fix, Buck,” Steve groaned from behind his fingers.

 

“You can’t expect to do all of the work,” Bucky replied.

 

“That’s just it, I…” Steve shook his head and dropped his hands, and moved so that he was standing half a foot from Bucky. 

 

 _“I asked for an army, and all I got was you,”_ _Colonel Phillips had said_.   _“_ ** _You_** _are not enough.”_

 

“There are people out there that need help,” Steve began, “people who can’t fight for themselves, or defend themselves, or don’t have access to basic human needs: food, water, shelter. And they’re everywhere.” His voice wavered, and his eyes cut to a space behind Bucky’s head and focused there, but he didn’t stop. “They’re way beyond the boundaries of the uniform. I can’t be a symbol of something I’m not sure I believe in anymore.”  He took a ragged breath and forced himself to meet Bucky’s gaze. “Lately,” he choked, “I’m not even sure I believe in myself.” 

 

If he’d had both hands Bucky would have caught Steve’s face and forced him to hold his gaze.  As it was, he managed with one, curling his fingers over Steve’s beard, thumbing the sharp cheekbone, and pulling Steve closer to him.

 

“You are one of the  _ only _ people I know who believes in himself, in his purpose, in his cause,” Bucky said.  “You’ve always fought to be something bigger than yourself, and you’ve always put yourself before other people.” Bucky shook his head and gave Steve a fond smile.  “You’re  _ human _ , Steve, serum and science aside.  You’re allowed to be selfish. You’re allowed to have doubt.”

 

Stubborn as always, Steve shook his head.  “It’s not that...it’s more than that. Or less.  I don’t know.” He bit his lip, stubborn at his lack of clarity.  He took a deep breath and tried again. “There has always been some small part of me still stuck in the ice.  I don’t know if I’ll ever have that part of me back.”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes sharply, endearingly annoyed with Steve’s martyrism.  “You’re talking to me like you don’t think I know that. Like I don’t know what that feels like. And it’s a terrifying feeling, Steve, being stuck like that, frozen because of your own fear.”

 

Steve curled a hand over Bucky’s wrist, holding onto him as if he was the only thing keeping Steve grounded. 

 

“We’re here, Steve, right now.” Bucky went on, his voice lowering, his body moving closer to Steve’s.  

 

The hand on Bucky’s wrist tightened, but Steve shook his head as tears threatened to fall.  “I’m sorry, Buck,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I left you here. If I would have known-”

 

Bucky cut him off.  “All the would haves and could haves don’t mean anything.”

 

“But if I’d held on that day, Bucky, then maybe…”

 

“Maybe what?  Huh? Maybe I would have lived, and by now I’d just be another body in a box for you to mourn.  But it wasn’t for us to decide. It never was. I don’t know who gets to make those decisions. All I know that all the shit you’ve seen, and all the terrible things I’ve done, have brought us both to this moment.”

 

Steve’s eyes closed for a moment, and a few tears spilled down his face.  When he opened his eyes again, they were bright with hope, as he dared to vocalize the question that had haunted him in T’Challa’s audience chamber.

 

“Are you still  _ my _ Bucky?”

 

Bucky grinned.  “What did I say to you, punk?  In Germany? 

 

Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth before quietly replying, “Anywhere.”

 

“And everywhere,” Bucky reminded him in the next second.  His gaze was intense and his voice was rough on his next words:  “I swear to god, Stevie, if you don’t put your hands on me now I might actually be okay with dying all over again.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve spent fifteen months talking. I don’t want to talk anymore. I wanna feel.”

_ “Are you still  **my** Bucky?” _

 

_ Bucky grinned.  “What did I say to you, punk?  In Germany?  _

 

_ Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth before quietly replying, “Anywhere.” _

 

_ “And everywhere,” Bucky reminded him in the next second.  His gaze was intense and his voice was rough on his next words:  “I swear to god, Stevie, if you don’t put your hands on me now I might actually be okay with dying all over again.” _

 

+

 

Steve wasted no more than half a second closing the distance between himself and Bucky, and he reached to hold Bucky’s face in his hands before kissing him swiftly and softly.  Bucky sighed into Steve’s mouth and melted against the solid frame of Steve’s body as he began to quake with the sudden wave of intensity that swept over him.

 

“You’re trembling,” Steve whispered as he pulled from Bucky’s lips.  He pressed a line of kisses along Bucky’s jaw as his arms wrapped around the other man and pulled him closer.

 

Bucky nodded and buried his face in Steve’s neck as he sought to ground himself.

 

“I thought it was just me,” Steve admitted.  Still, he frowned at the way Bucky shook. “Hey, look at me.  What’s wrong?” He reached for Bucky’s chin and tipped his face up so he could look Bucky in the eye.

 

“I think I’ve been dreaming about us since I first woke up.  I just didn’t know it until I saw you in T’Challa’s chamber.”

 

Steve’s hands slid down Bucky’s neck, over his shoulders, one hand skimming over yielding flesh and muscle, the other encountering void left by the missing limb.  “We don’t have to. We can just talk-”

 

Bucky’s scoff cut Steve off.  “I’ve spent fifteen months talking.  I don’t want to talk anymore. I wanna feel.”

 

Steve smiled.  “Okay,” he murmured, raising a hand to touch Bucky’s jaw.  Once more he ducked his head and kissed Bucky full on the lips, this one deeper than the first.  It was languid and searching, and Bucky’s fingers tightened on Steve’s shoulder before sliding down over his chest and carding through the dark hair there.

 

Steve tasted like snow, cool and crisp, and he was warm and solid and smelled like summer rain.  Bucky’s senses fired as his body came to life under Steve’s lips and fingertips. With only one hand to work with, Bucky couldn’t touch Steve enough, and couldn’t contend with his own clothing.  Growling against Steve’s shoulder in frustration, his cheeks flushed hotly as Steve chuckled in reply, and slowed his kisses, pulling away and looking down at Bucky through thick lashes.

 

“What is it?” he murmured.  “Hmm?”

 

“I wanna feel  _ all _ of you,” Bucky growled gently, reaching back behind his shoulder to pull at the loose, cotton shift he wore.

 

Steve’s reply was a warm, deep hum, and he made quick work of Bucky’s clothes until he was left standing in his briefs which were tented from the fullness of Bucky’s cock.

 

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve groaned, before dropping to his knees.

 

His mouth carved a path over Bucky’s muscles, the sharp edge of his teeth snagging skin and nipping around the hollow of his navel.  He worked his tongue into the grooves of Bucky’s hip bones which earned him a sharp, breathy cry. Bucky’s hips jerked, and he murmured his approval as his fingers snared Steve’s damp hair and held him steady.

 

Bucky was in heaven, with Steve’s mouth pressed to his torso, and the rasp of Steve’s beard making him pant and whine as he watched the flash of wet pink that was Steve’s tongue slip and slide over places that hadn’t been touched by another in decades.  Steve’s damp, hot breath scorched him through the fabric of his briefs and everything stilled as the blood pounded in his ears. He felt the tug at his briefs, a whisper of encouragement, and then Bucky’s hand curved under Steve’s jaw as it widened to take Bucky in his mouth.

 

A warbled moan bubbled out of Bucky’s chest at the soft, wet heat of Steve’s mouth.  Several times he blinked, looking down at Steve, and then finally Steve’s gaze turned up to meet Bucky’s over the plane of Bucky’s chest.  Bucky huffed, and bit his lip, and then tugged gently on Steve’s hair.

 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, curving his hand up to push the hair from Steve’s eyes.  “Oh, god, Stevie.” He hissed as Steve hummed and took him deep into his throat.

 

Tucked safely away in the palace at Wakanda, Bucky and Steve delighted in the small nuances of one another that were revealed like it was the first time all over again.  In a lot of ways, it was the first time, at least in this lifetime, and Bucky shivered and licked his lips as a hot and cold waves of pleasure brushed up his spine and spread through his limbs.

 

Steve lost himself in Bucky’s scent, his taste, the weight on his tongue, and the sound of his name urgently whispered by Bucky.  It was enough to make him whimper, and his body tightened with arousal as he took more and more of Bucky into his mouth. The skin on Bucky’s flanks was soft under Steve’s fingers, but not unmarred, and as Steve opened his eyes for one dreamy moment, he took in the pale ridges of scars, and the reddened puckers of healed wounds.  

 

Later, he’d spend as much time as he could exploring all the parts of Bucky that were different.  For now, Steve was focused on the familiar as it unfolded with Bucky’s urgency. He sat back slowly, and circled Bucky’s length with his hand as he looked up at Bucky

 

When he felt the soft pillow of Steve’s lips purse at the very tip of his arousal, Bucky blinked, and shook his hair from his face before looking down at Steve.  The colour was high on the blond’s cheeks; his skin was dewy, and his eyes were dark and determined as Steve looked up at him. 

 

“C’mon,” Steve whispered wetly, his tongue slipping around the edge of Bucky’s desire. “C’mon, Buck, don’t hold back.  You never hold back.” Then, he swallowed Bucky once more, as deep as he could go.

 

Oh, this fucking kid from Brooklyn played dirty on all fronts, and Bucky shuddered and slipped his fingers from Steve’s hair to hold the back of his neck, and across his shoulder to grip the muscles bunched there.

 

“Say it again,” Bucky gasped, clinging to Steve, and caving in on him.  “Say my name.”

 

Steve hummed and sat back again.  “Bucky,” he growled.

 

“Goddamit, Steve,” he grunted, his squeezing eyes at the sound of it, and the rush of pleasure that flooded his senses.  He’d missed Steve saying his name.

 

Steve had missed saying it.  He’d dared to utter it on those long nights when the world closed in and he’d fought to keep everything at bay - everything, of course, save the man before him.  Yes, he’d missed saying it, and he’d missed the way Bucky’s eyes would light up when he did.

 

“Look at me,” Steve breathed, his tongue winding another intricate path over Bucky’s flesh.  He couldn’t help the sudden moan when Bucky did as he asked, and gazed down at him, determination sparkling in the crystalline blue.

 

The heat in Steve’s eyes mad Bucky whimper, and the sound bubbling over his lips as everything around him started to crumble and fall away.  The blinding rush of arousal that suddenly blasted through his veins made him freeze for a second before he was moaning raggedly and pushing back into Steve’s throat, as far as the blond could take him.

 

Knees pressed to the carpet, Steve moaned around Bucky again, loud and eager, and he closed his eyes at the primal sounds of Bucky’s pleasure, and the taste of everything that mattered.  The fingers in his hair tightened, and bright sparks of white pleasure popped behind his closed eyes.

 

For the first time in months - perhaps in the few years he’d been back - Steve felt safe.  He felt known, and he felt whole.

 

_ This is home. _

 

The realization slammed into Steve like a freight train and his hands slid around to hold Bucky against him, to pull him in as far as possible, and to never let go again.

 

+

 

Sam Wilson had been right: beds were too soft.  And after the last year of sleeping out of doors again, Steve had come to realize that several of the creature comforts he’d grown accustomed to in the twenty-first century were an attempt to place himself somewhere in a world where he knew he didn’t really belong.  Sleeping as a soldier was what he knew. It was who he was, and he’d shared that with Bucky.

 

Steve smiled softly and rolled to his side. His arm slung out, hand reaching for Bucky, only to find the bed empty, and the sheets cool.  Sitting up, Stevel let the bed covers pool around his hips as he rubbed his eyes.

 

“Buck?” His voice was hoarse, his throat dry.

 

When he didn’t get a reply, Steve stood and wandered naked to the next room.  Bucky was there, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling frame of a window that overlooked the vast and rich land of Wakanda.  For a moment, Steve merely stood there watching Bucky, and the way the subtle cerulean glow of the Wakandian night illuminated his skin.

 

“It’s kinda unbelievable, isn’t it?” Bucky said, startling Steve from his vigil.

 

Steve paused a moment before he padded across the room and joined Bucky at the window.  He glanced at the landscape below, the city shrouded by the night sky, but lit from within from the effervescence of the vibranium; then, he looked back to Bucky, his equally naked frame a play of shadow, and the blue and purple glow.

 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.  “It kinda is.”

 

Bucky finally looked at Steve, and seeing that he was under the former captain’s watchful gaze, his mouth twisted in a shy smile before he looked back out at the city.

 

“I didn’t know what to think.  I mean, when they took me out. I didn’t remember anything for the first few days.  Then things started trickling in. Memories of the war, of Brooklyn...that last night before I shipped out.”  Bucky shook his head. “That’s where it started, wasn’t it? That’s how you got into it. Being Captain America.  Somebody saw that your heart was too damn big for your body and decided to help you out.”

 

Steve nodded, remembering Erskine’s words.  The loss of the doctor still made his heart ache, but not with the rawness it used to employ.  “Something like that, yeah.”

 

“See,” Bucky went on, smiling fondly,  “I knew I wasn’t the only one who knew you were meant for something more.  I just didn’t know how to help you.”

 

Steve nodded.  There was a stretch of silence, and then he asked, “How long? I mean, how long have you been...awake?”

 

Bucky shrugged.  “About a year now, give or take.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened, and he took a step forward.  “What? Why didn’t T’Challa notify me? Why didn’t you try to…”

 

Bucky smiled gently and looked at Steve as he shook his head.  “Cuz you had your own shit to deal with.”

 

“Yeah, but I could have-”

 

“It doesn’t matter.  You’re here now. That’s all I care about.”  He looked back onto the city. “Besides, you think I wanted you hanging around giving  _ me _ the same treatment I gave you while we were growing up?”  His smile turned faraway. “I needed to heal, Steve. And you needed to put miles between us.”  He turned to Steve again. “I needed that, too. Space. Time. I respected that. I respect  _ us _ .”

 

“I do, too, Bucky, but I would have come-”

 

“You really gotta start living in the here and now, Steve.”

 

Any words Steve had been planning to stay died at the frankness of Bucky’s voice.  He sighed and nodded, knowing that Bucky didn’t mean catching up on all the music, or movies, or technology he’d missed out on.

 

Steve swallowed thickly.  “I respect us, too. I...you remember when Ma died?  And you came to see me after the funeral, offered to let me bunk at your house?”

 

Bucky smiled fondly and nodded, crossing to where Steve stood next to the sofa.  “You said you could get by on your own.”

 

“And  _ you _ said,” Steve continued, “ ‘I know you can.  The thing is, you don’t have to’.”

 

Bucky smirked.  “Really? I said that?”  He shook his head playfully.  “Doesn’t really  _ sound _ like me, does it?”

 

“Bucky,” Steve growled with a smile.

 

Bucky chuckled.  “You don’t have to,” he repeated gently.  “ ‘You didn’t then, and you don’t now. Not anymore.”

 

“I know,” Steve nodded. He glanced down tangled his fingers with Bucky’s.  “I never feel alone when I have you next to me.” He held Bucky’s gaze. “I love you, Buck.”

 

Bucky smiled.  “I love you, too.”

 

+

 

Morning found Steve seated across from the bed, a battered notebook open on the table and his pencil working madly, creating angles and curves and shaded areas.  On the bed, Bucky slept, curled on his side, face somewhat squished by the pillow he was hugging, his mouth open as he gently snored. The faint curve on his lips was obvious, however, and Steve grinned as he sketched, remembering everything from the night before that resulted in that dreamy smile.

 

He didn’t know what time it was.  About an hour ago there had been a gentle knock at the door and breakfast had been brought in - nothing fancy, just coffee, juice, fresh fruit and yogurt - but it had remained untouched as soon as Steve had come back into the room and found Bucky with his face turned into the blooming light of the morning.  Steve had dug around the bottom of his duffel for his notebook and pencil, and he’d already filled half a dozen pages with rough sketches that he’d detail later. For now, he just wanted to capture as much of this moment as possible.

 

Nat would probably roll her eyes and tell him to just use the phone and take a picture, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that the phone had a camera, and everything else, too, it seemed.  And drawing, actually taking the time to find the right light and angle, was something that Steve hadn’t done in a long time. It was intimate, and he felt whole doing it. 

 

He had the time to do it, too.  His gaze drifted to Bucky once more, taking in the familiar downward tilt of his eyebrows, the hard edge of his squared-off jaw juxtaposed with the softness of his mouth, and the play of muscle beneath the skin.  

 

Steve smiled at the tranquility of it all, and shaded a portion of the shoulder he’d drawn.  He was lost to the motions, and to the sound of the pencil gently rasping the surface of the paper.  When the shrill chirp of a cell phone pierced the stillness of the room, Steve frowned, and watched Bucky stir in his sleep.

 

“What time is it?” Bucky mumbled as Steve set his book aside and stood, staring down at the duffel next to the bed.

 

“Late.  Probably close to ten.”

 

“Shit,” Bucky breathed.  Then, he looked at Steve staring at the bag on the floor.  “You gonna answer that?”

 

“I…yeah,” Steve nodded.  He crouched down and dug for the phone he kept charged and turned on at all times.

 

The only person who had the number was –

 

“Who is it?” Bucky asked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

Steve sat down next to him and held the phone in his palm so that Bucky could see.  “It’s Tony.” His eyes met Bucky’s, and for a moment they sat as the phone continued to ring.

 

Then, it stopped, but a few seconds later it started again and Steve seemed to snap out of his trance.  He picked up the call, and set it to speaker.

 

“Tony,” Steve greeted.

 

“Cap,” came the brisk reply.

 

Silence stretched on, and then Tony came back.  “We’ve got a situation.”

 

Bucky nodded at Steve, as if to say this was it: the thing he was meant for.

 

Steve took a deep breath and steeled himself.  “Where do you need me?”

 

+

 

“Thank you, your highness,” Steve said as he stood on the tarmac next to one of Wakanda’s stealth jets as it had its pre-flight crosscheck administered.  “For your hospitality, for helping Bucky, and for this.” He gestured to the jet.

 

“It is not a problem,” T’Challa dismissed.  “I am happy to help. If what you have told me, combined with the reports Okoye has collected from New York, this threat is bigger than any of us.  It will come on all fronts. We will be ready when the time comes.” He looked to where Bucky stood nearby. “And Sergeant Barnes will be ready, too.  My sister, Shuri, has been working tirelessly on the technology for his arm. We are excited to see it put to use.” He turned back to Steve. “We will be in touch, Captain Rogers,” T’Challa said as a farewell.

 

“Your highness,” Steve replied with a bow of his head.

 

When T’Challa had gone, Bucky approached, taking in the lines of Steve’s old Captain America uniform.  “So, you’re taking off again, ” he joked.

 

“You know I’ll be back this time.”

 

“You better be.  Cuz if you’re not, I’ll have Shuri equip me with a new leg, too, so I can come find you and use it to kick your ass all over the globe.”

 

Steve snorted.  “Shut up, jerk.”  He reached out and shoved Bucky.

 

Bucky grinned and shoved him back.  “Punk.” 

 

Before he could move his hand from Steve’s shoulder, Steve caught him around the waist and pulled him close.  “I love you, Buck,” he whispered. “You’re home for me. I’m coming home.”

 

“I know,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s shoulder.  

 

Steve squeezed a bit tighter and then stepped back, putting distance between them.  With a short nod, he turned on his heel and headed to the door of the jet. It closed behind Steve, and the engines geared up, and Bucky watched as the jet lifted into the sky before it turned northwest.  When it cleared the shield and was no longer visible, Bucky turned and headed off of the tarmac.

 

Shuri was there to greet him in the hangar.  “White Wolf. I was wondering if you’d abandon our work here and take off with Rogers.”  She smiled impishly as Bucky blushed.

 

“Not likely.”  He glanced back the way Steve had gone, and then gave Shuri a determined look.  “You about ready to get that arm on me? I think I’m gonna need it sooner than we thought”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to marksmanfem for cheering me on and pointing out where I needed to regroup and reevaluate. Lots of love to incog_ninja because she's my Tyler Durden.


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